


The Senator's Wife

by indiefic



Category: Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cheating, F/M, padme lived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4440194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU set 4 years after RotS.  </p><p>In an opulent apartment, Senator Organa’s wife waits for her lover and catalogs her sins.</p><p> </p><p>THIS STORY IS COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She paces the living room, glancing out the window at the panoramic view of Imperial Center.  Despite the luxuriously comfortable furnishings, she does not sit while she waits.  She hates this place, this chic apartment in the most exclusive address on the planet.  
  
This apartment is not all she hates.  
  
Her loathing for herself far outstrips any animosity she feels toward the place reserved for their clandestine affair.  
  
He’s late – as usual – and she despises him all the more for it.  He may be the one person she hates more than herself, yet perversely that fact makes her hate herself even more.  He makes her wait in order to prove a point, to prove that it is his schedule that matters, his wants that matter.  He needs to prove to her that she means nothing to him.  
  
She looks at the door and considers leaving.  Her cloak is draped over the back of the absurdly expensive repulsor couch.  She needs merely to scoop it up and head for the turbolift.  
  
She turns back to the view.  She has no intention of leaving, any more than he has any intention of not showing up.  He’ll be here.  He always is.  Belittling and cruel, he makes her regret their physical passion every time.    
  
But if she ignores his words, if she ignores the way he treats her when they are both in the armor of their own clothes, then she can almost believe he is the man she still loves.  His words can lie, but his touch cannot.    
  
The apartment has an impressive view of the Senate complex and she knows it is no accident.  He undoubtedly chose this apartment for that very reason.  He wants her to stand here in his arms and be forced to think of the husband she betrays like clockwork.  Her eyes fall shut at the thought.  She will not cry.  For if she cries, he will know why and he will be doubly vicious, doubly demanding.    
  
Bail Organa deserves so much more from a wife than the bitter deceit she provides.  He is a good man, proud and just.  He is a wonderful father to Luke and Leia.  As a lover he is kind and considerate.  And yet, her body does not burn for his touch.  She does not hunger for the texture of his skin beneath her fingers, for the taste of his kiss against her tongue.  
  
With a huff, she resumes her pacing.  She is achy, impatient.  Her temper is waspish.  She hates her lover all the more for these facts.  She knows this feeling, this insatiable hunger within her.  She wants to hit and bite and scream and fuck.  Everything inside her hungers for his touch –  _now_.  
  
She knows her body.  She knows what these feelings mean and the consequences they herald.  She knows it just as well today as she did five years ago.  If he comes to her here and now, if they sate their passions today, a child will be conceived.  The child will be a full sibling to her beloved Luke and Leia.  Only this child won’t be fathered by her loving Jedi protector, Anakin Skywalker.  This child will be fathered by the Emperor’s most vicious servant, Darth Vader.  
  
She is disgusted with herself, with her weakness.  It took everything she had to turn him away at Geonosis, to verbally deny her feelings toward him.  And then he was wounded and so vulnerable and she could not stay away.  He wanted more – of course.  He always wants more.  His passions are insatiable.  After the first encounter, he pursued her relentlessly.  He wanted to marry her – she actually laughed in his face at the idea.    
  
He did not respond well.  
  
She would not marry him.  The very idea was absurd.  She was a senator, he a Jedi Padawan.  They would have been forced to lie to everyone they loved, everyone they trusted.  So despite the aching void she felt for him, she crushed the idea.    
  
If only she could have crushed what she felt for him so easily.  It was difficult to ignore him.  As the Clone Wars progressed he became increasingly more famous, The Hero With No Fear.  She found it nearly impossible to escape talk of him, holonet reports of his exploits.  Every dinner conversation of the war effort included mention of him.  
  
And then came the rumor that he was killed.    
  
It brought her entire existence to a grinding halt.  Anakin could not be dead.  It wasn’t possible.  She was in mourning, in a state of constant agitation and depression, desperate for any word of him.  Even worse, she could not admit her feelings to anyone.    
  
And then, unexpectedly, she did nothing more proactive than glance over her shoulder one afternoon on her way into the Senate buildings and there he was, lost in conversation with two other Jedi.  
  
He saw her and quickly extricated himself from the conversation.  She was unable to speak, overwhelmed with the reality that he was standing in front of her, whole and unharmed.  
  
Unable to stop herself, she immediately reached out for him, kissing him greedily.  He took full advantage of her reaction.  Grace forgotten, he half-dragged, half-carried her to her private shuttle.  It was clumsy and inelegant and glorious.  They were both still mostly dressed when he slid into her welcoming body.  She was unable to prevent her cry of pleasure as she arched into his thrusts, mindless of the uncomfortable shuttle floor.  
  
They finally ended up in her apartment, in her bed.  Thanks to the war and her own cruelty, he was older, quieter.  He did not beg her for promises or effusively profess his feelings.  He was gentle and loving.  Perhaps he came to the same realization as she - their relationship was doomed.   There was no talk of their future together, no talk of a next time.  That fact did not stop either of them from enjoying their stolen moment.  He took her time and time again and she went willingly into his arms each and every time, trying desperately to imprint him indelibly on her memory.    
  
When he finally left he had missed the convoy to the Outer Rim and most certainly would be disciplined.    
  
When he finally left, she was pregnant with Luke and Leia.  
  
Bail was always one of her closest friends and he became her lone confidant.  She told him everything about Anakin and her condition.  She told him she had no intention of informing Anakin of the pregnancy.  The knowledge would not,  _could not_ , change either of their paths and it would only make their choices harder.    
  
Bail was widowed several years earlier and when he suggested a marriage, she immediately rejected the idea.  She would not be a burden to him.  She would not force him to claim another man’s child.  
  
But Bail persisted in his own kind and logical way.  He cared for her, he respected her and he finally admitted, he was rather smitten with her.  He swore he had wanted a child for a very long time, had thought himself too old.  He said he would welcome the opportunity to raise a child with her regardless of the child’s true paternity.  It was not genetics, he said, but rather actions that made a man a father.  
  
Padmé was fond of him and he made a very convincing argument.  She did not relish the idea of showing up on her parents’ doorstep pregnant and jobless in need of shelter.    
  
She accepted Bail’s proposal.  She resigned her seat in the Senate and she became his wife.  
  
And then came the end of the Clone Wars, Order 66 and Palpatine’s rise to Emperor.  Despite Padmé’s affection for her new husband she mourned the death of the Jedi – the death of Anakin Skywalker – so profoundly it sent her into early labor.  
  
The twins were born healthy and strong.  Bail supported his wife, pretending not to notice how soul-deep her sorrow ran.    
  
She clearly remembers the first time she saw Darth Vader, the Emperor’s wrath.  The menacing, shadowy form draped in black Zeyd-cloth robes was indistinguishable as human.  Yet there was something so familiar about him, even from the great distance which she viewed him at one of the Emperor’s grand parades several months after the end of the war.  
  
She went out of her way to walk alone, knowing, somehow, he would find her.  He did.  His voice was broken, rasping.  The only part of his face visible beneath the black hood was his jaw.  A human jaw.  
  
He ordered her to stop.  She did.  One of his black gloved hands grasped her jaw, forcing her face toward his.  She was still unable to distinguish any of his features beneath the hood.  But there was something there.  Something she could not deny.  
  
“Anakin?” she asked, her voice quavering with emotion.  
  
He immediately released her, pushing her away so abruptly she stumbled and fell.  “Whore!” he spat at her in his gravelly voice.    
  
And then he was gone and she knew.  Anakin Skywalker had survived.    
  
She never told Bail about the encounter.  She couldn’t.  She didn’t want to admit the man who fathered her children was now the most feared creature in the galaxy.  She didn’t want to admit whatever role she may have played in his transformation.  
  
Yet, she knew he would not stay away.  Whatever goodness in Anakin Skywalker allowed him to set her free was destroyed.  Lord Vader clearly viewed her as a possession.  
  
For months the harassment persisted.  It was a vicious dance, a careful ballet she stepped through with herself as much as with him.  She warred with her own desires as much as she did with his demands.  He could have forced her, that much was always shockingly clear.  Yet he never did.  As much as he wanted – and intended – to win, it was not in such a manner.  Coercion, manipulation, those are his tools where she is concerned.  
  
Yet for all of his lies and petty threats, it was his truth that finally drew her to him.  He hassled her for months, when she shopped or walked or did anything alone.  He never approached her when Bail or the twins were near and for that she was intensely grateful.  But she knows she found more and more excuses to be alone in public, giving him the opportunity for contact.  
  
It was to this apartment that he finally brought her.  It was here that he finally revealed what lay beneath the hood and robes.  
  
She knew from the damage to his voice he was grievously wounded.    
  
He stood there, vulnerable, allowing her to bear witness to the damage Obi-Wan inflicted.  He refuses to elaborate on what exactly happened on Mustafar.  She only knows there was a vicious battle and he was nearly killed in the process of murdering his former mentor.  
  
His face was left unscathed and for that she is secretly happy.  His torso was not so lucky.  Most of it is covered with raw skin grafts that make her question the Emperor’s true intention toward his apprentice.  His right leg was amputated above the knee and replaced with a mechanical limb.  
  
He was quiet, watching her reaction, waiting for her horror or refusal.  Neither came.  
  
Though they both did.  Again and again.  
  
She wonders if it is his failings rather than his abilities that have always attracted her.  She wonders if he remembered her reaction after the Battle of Geonosis and counted on her sympathy to draw her near yet again.  
  
Regardless of what brought them here, it is done.  She is Lord Vader’s lover.  She betrays her husband, finding pleasure in a Sith’s arms.  
  
She knows Bail is not stupid.  She knows he must suspect.  And she knows he probably understands far more than she would ever allow herself to admit.  They often discuss the Empire’s problems, the most egregious human rights violations.  Now and then Bail will discuss a particular project of his with such passion, explain it to her so pointedly she has the distinct impression he wants her to champion the cause to her lover.  
  
Now and then, she does.  
  
For all of his high-handed pronouncements and power plays, there are times when her lover is quiet, gentle.  There are times when he touches her so carefully, so lovingly, she knows there is good in him.  
  
She wonders if in several months time he will suspect the child conceived today is his.  As far as she knows, he believes Luke and Leia to be Bail’s children.  He never mentions them and he bristles when she slips and does so.  But then again, maybe not everything is as it seems.  
  
She often wonders at the fact that he shares her affections with Bail.  She suspects it has much to do with the Emperor.  As long as she is publicly viewed as Bail Organa’s wife, as the mother of Bail Organa’s children, the Emperor has no reason to suspect she means anything to his apprentice.  Surely Lord Vader would not suffer such an insult as to share his lover.  Surely Lord Vader would not allow another man to claim his children.  
  
The door to the apartment hisses open and she turns, watching him walk into the room.  
  
She crosses her arms, regarding him warily.  “I’ve been waiting for you.”


	2. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight weeks after The Senator's Wife.
> 
> Lady Organa and Lord Vader have a candid discussion.

She is loathe to wake and grunts in annoyance as she feels the mattress depress under his weight.  “Go away,” she mumbles, rolling away from him while using her cloak to shield her eyes from the afternoon light.   
    
“Feeling unwell, my love?” he asks.  Oddly enough, his tone is not unendurably mocking.   
    
“Tired, grouchy, sick,” she mumbles.   
    
“I suppose it’s too much to expect you to do me the courtesy of informing me you’re pregnant,” he says dryly, grabbing her arm and rolling her over to face him.   
    
She looks up at him, watching his face for any hint of feeling.  She had no illusions about keeping the pregnancy a secret from him, but she didn’t expect him to realize quite so soon.  She hasn’t even started showing yet.   
    
“It’s none of your business,” she says, rolling away again.   
    
“ _You_  are my business,” he says imperiously.   
    
She grunts in disagreement but doesn’t have the energy to actually argue with him.  She isn’t sure if it’s merely a difference in pregnancies or perhaps she blocked out memories of her first trimester with the twins, but she cannot remember ever feeling so exhausted in her entire life.  Simply making her way to the apartment sapped every bit of energy.  Between the exhaustion and the morning sickness she isn’t certain she’ll make it to the birth.   
    
He laughs again and this time there is genuine humor.  “You’ll live,” he says dryly, obviously sensing her emotions in the Force.  “You have no one to blame but yourself.  I trust you know how to avoid these  _inconveniences_  if you truly wished.”   
    
She wouldn’t have answered him even if she possessed the energy.  He’s right, of course.  She is quite capable of using birth control.  But as he so aptly pointed out, she didn’t.  She could lie and pretend it is because of Bail.  Her guilt over his rearing of another man's children is more than sufficient for her to attempt to present him with his own son or daughter.  However, after four years of never using any contraceptives with her husband, she suspects it is never destined to happen.    
    
And she wanted another child.  Another of  _his_  children.  But she will die before she admits that.    
    
“Bail wants more children,” she says.  It is both true and has the added bonus of reminding him of her sex life with her husband.  She almost wishes she had the energy to roll over and watch the scowl on his face.   
    
There is an ominous silence.   
    
“And which of your lovers sired this parasite?” he finally demands.    
    
His tone is hard, biting and she regrets her provocative comment, not least of all because he always knows when she’s lying.  Dammit, she’s so tired.  She doesn’t have the energy to fight with him.  She searches for a politic answer that doesn’t require her to lie.   
    
“The same one who fathered Luke and Leia,” she says.   
    
He grunts in reply and then falls silent.  She has almost drifted off to sleep when his hand touches her hip.  “Mine then,” he says quietly, possessively.   
    
She shivers uncontrollably and he rolls her over at the same time stretching out next to her on the bed.  She curls into his much larger form, nestling her head under his chin.  His arm wraps around her back, drawing her near.  “You thought I didn’t know?” he asks quietly.   
    
“I didn’t want to know if you knew,” she answers honestly.   
    
“Why do you think I allow Bail Organa to live?” he asks darkly.  “You best pray he never succeeds in getting you pregnant.”   
    
She pulls her head back far enough to look into his eyes.  “Bail is a good man,” she says.  “A good father.”   
    
He flinches ever so slightly at the implication that he, unlike Bail, would not be a good father.  “A pity you can’t bring yourself to love him,” he says cruelly.   
    
“I love Bail,” she counters honestly.   
    
“You aren’t in love with him,” he replies.  It is not a question, but a statement of fact.   
    
She doesn’t bother to deny it.  He would know she was lying.  She looks away.  Indeed it is a pity that Bail is such a good man and yet she cannot bring herself to fall in love with him.  That sacred emotion is reserved for the vicious, possessive creature in whose grasp she rests.  She blames her raging hormones for the single tear that streaks down her cheek.   
    
He leans over her, tracing the track of her tear with his tongue.  “My love,” he rasps, pulling her closer.  His teeth nip gently along the line of her jaw and his hand finds its way beneath her cloak to gently cup her tender breast.  His thumb flicks lightly over her nipple and her breath hisses between her teeth as she arches into his touch.   
    
"I hate you," she says.  She means it.  She also means  _I love you_.  And he knows it.   
    
He opens her cloak completely and quickly pulls the hem of her skirt up to her waist.  She shifts restlessly, her thighs falling open as his fingertips graze her sex.  She is wet for him, empty and aching.  "Ani," she whimpers, her fingernails biting into his bicep.   
    
He hesitates for a moment and she looks at him, taking in his tightly clenched jaw.  He meets her gaze.  "Is it …" he says quietly, searching for words.  "I don't want to hurt …"   
    
She isn't sure if she wants to laugh or cry.  Of all the times for him to be considerate.  "It's fine," she nearly growls, trying to tug him on top of her.   
    
It is all the encouragement he needs.  He crawls over her body, supporting his weight on his arms and knees.  Part of her wants to feel the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress but she is too amused by his care to push the issue.   
    
He has her stripped to her underwear in mere moments.  Usually, if she is going to see him, she makes a point of wearing something provocative, typically of the black silk variety.  But she was feeling so retched earlier, she didn't bother.  She is quite certain he doesn't even notice.   
    
He slides down the bed until his mouth is even with her navel.  He presses a single, gentle kiss to the warm skin of her still-flat abdomen.  She threads her fingers through his hair, urging him to look at her.  He does.  His eyes are darker than usual, weighted with a thousand emotions he will never voice.    
    
He lowers his head again, nipping at her hip as he pulls her purely functional white panties down her legs, tossing them on the floor.  Looping one of her thighs over his shoulder, he exposes her sex.    
    
She rolls her hips insistently and he smirks up at her with a wicked grin.  "Impatient?" he asks.   
    
She is on the verge of telling him just how impatient she is when he dips his head again and his lips find the wiry hair that covers her sex.  Groaning in pleasure, she arches into him.  Despite her eagerness, he takes his time, savoring her.  Gently, his fingers part the lips of her sex and his tongue plays along the sensitive bud of her clitoris.   
    
"Ani!" she yelps, her fingers curling tightly into his hair, her perfectly manicured nails scratching his scalp.   
    
He looks up at her.  "A quick one to take the edge off?" he asks.   
    
Biting down on her bottom lip, she nods fervently.   
    
He doesn't tease.  Sucking her slick bud between his teeth, he worries it with his tongue.  Two of his fingers curl inside her, unerringly stroking the sensitive spot deep inside.  Her hips buck and she climaxes with incredible force, hissing in pleasure.   
    
She is still shuddering, panting as he removes his own clothes, kneeling at the foot of the bed.  He grabs her hips and guides her thighs over his own.  He slides smoothly inside her, his rigid length filling her perfectly.  He sits there for a moment, eyes closed, rocking back and forth with tiny movements.  The head of his cock nudges her cervix and there is an achy moment of pleasure-pain that makes her arch her back, wrapping her legs around his lean waist.   
    
He leans forward, bracing his palms on the bed on either side of her shoulders as he pulls out and slides back into her in a slow, seamless rhythm.  She groans, savoring the feel of him inside her, around her.  Untwining her legs from his waist, she lets her thighs fall away from him, at the same time rolling her hips to change the angle of his penetration, allowing him to go deeper.   
    
His breath hitches and his eyes screw shut as he bites down on his bottom lip.  Beads of perspiration dot his forehead and upper lip and she knows he is fighting to keep himself in check, to keep himself from driving into her as forcefully as he wants.   
    
Wickedly, she snakes her hand down her torso, her bright red nails a sharp counterpoint to her pale skin.  She sifts lightly through her nest of damp curls, fingering her clit.  His eyes snap open and his attention is riveted on the movement of her fingers, though the sustained rhythm of his thrusting never falters.   
    
He looks up, his eyes locking with hers.  She gives him a lusty, carnal grin bordering on evil.  She licks her lips slowly as she moves her fingers quicker, harder, groaning deep in her throat.  Inside her, she feels his cock expand improbably harder, thicker.  Intentionally, she flexes her vaginal muscles tightly around him.   
    
"Fuck, Padmé," he curses breathlessly.  And then his restraint is gone.  He drives into her, his hips slapping against hers.  She beats him to the finish by the narrowest of margins, shuddering in pleasure as his body cords above her, his hips driving against her one final time.   
    
He collapses over her, panting, his weight braced on his arms and knees.  "I was trying to be careful," he says in a tone that would sound suspiciously sullen if it weren't so filled with self-satisfaction.   
    
"You don't do careful," she replies without pity, biting down on his earlobe enjoying the salty taste of his skin.   
    
He grunts, flopping onto his side next to her, pulling her with him and hitching her thigh high on his hip.  He captures her lips in a hard, demanding kiss and she surrenders happily.   
    
She finally pulls away, burrowing against him.  "I'm going to sleep now," she mumbles.   
    
He sighs deeply and she feels him relax.  As she fades into sleep, she hears him say, "Mine."   
  


	3. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7 years after RotS, Lord Vader attempts to do the right thing.

“Are you sleeping with her?”   
    
He turns from the datapad he is reviewing to watch Padmé walk into the living room.  Her head is held high, her features taut with righteous indignation.    
    
He takes a moment to marvel at her beauty.  It has been more than half a standard year since they were last alone together.  Seven months ago the tense negotiations with the Chiss pulled him to the Empire’s border.  Six months ago Padmé miscarried the tiny life that was their fourth child.   
    
She isn’t supposed to be here.  Not tonight.  Tomorrow afternoon  _maybe_  her curtly worded message informed him only this morning.  She has been in no hurry to see him.   
    
But that was before this evening’s Imperial dinner.  He doesn’t need to ask who it is to whom Padmé refers.  Padmé is angry about his dinner companion.  To the outward observer, Padmé spent the dinner perfectly poised and coolly controlled.  But he felt her anger, buffeting against his consciousness, inescapable as Tatooine’s sweltering heat.  It's why he's here waiting for her in  _their_  apartment rather than retiring to his personal residence.  He has never been one to turn away from conflict.   
    
“Lovely to see you, Senator,” he says, rising to his feet.  He uses her former title solely to court her rage.  He shouldn’t, especially in light of her mood, but he can't resist.    
    
“Don’t avoid the question,” she counters, her voice deathly quiet, her tone icy cold.  “Is she your lover?”   
    
He looks at her, blinking slowly.  “No.”  It’s the truth.  He isn’t sexually involved with his beautiful young dinner companion, though not for lack of invitation.    
    
Padmé seems only slightly mollified.  She shrugs out of her heavy dark cloak, revealing the ballgown he saw earlier.  It’s an artful arrangement of crimson red silk that drapes her feminine curves to perfection.   She is a stunningly beautiful woman and he's half erect simply from looking at her.   
    
“Who is she?”   
    
“Her name is Kyah Hess.  She’s a Lieutenant in the Imperial Navy who was assigned to the Executor six months ago as my personal physician.”   
    
Gaze narrowing, Padmé stalks toward him.  She is most displeased and he understands why.  As his personal physician, Lieutenant Hess has the one thing that up until now, has been Padmé’s alone, intimate physical knowledge of him.  Of course, the situation with his physician is vastly different from his relationship with Padmé.  For all of her innuendo, Lieutenant Hess is a very competent, professional physician and there has been no inappropriate contact between the two of them.    
    
Padmé comes to a stop directly in front of him, arms crossed over her chest.  “Your physician?”   
    
“Yes.”   
    
“Since when are medical droids insufficient?”   
    
He looks down at her, his face betraying no emotion.  “Since the scars on the right side of my chest refused to heal and grew painful to the point of distraction.”   
    
Her expression immediately softens.  “ _Anakin_ ,” she says quietly, reaching out to him.    
    
She gently, but insistently, pulls at his cloak and overtunic.  When it becomes apparent she won’t be satisfied by anything short of a visual inspection, he humors her, shrugging out of his clothes until he is bare to the waist.    
    
He doesn’t look.  He never looks.  He has no desire to bear witness to the monstrous scars covering his chest from collarbone to navel. The damage is far more extensive on his right side, flowing down his right arm to the elbow much like the fire from which it sprang.  The shiny, puckered skin continues down his torso, past his hip.  The injuries consume most of his right leg until both the scars and the leg abruptly in a prosthesis above his knee.  The flesh of his back and left arm is unmarred, but it is little consolation.  He feels far more machine than man most days, a freakshow, an oddity.   
    
Pressing her fingertips gingerly to his skin, she hisses through her teeth.  The newest set of graphs is still raw and they probably look quite gruesome.  But despite the appearance, he is far more comfortable now thanks to Lieutenant Hess’s expert attention.    
    
“I’m sorry,” she says.  “I had no idea.”   
    
“Why would you?  We’ve been apart for months.”   
    
The words are spoken without rancor, but there is much left unsaid.  He has been away for months and aside from a brief and agonizingly cryptic message informing him of the miscarriage, they have been out of communication.  There is an unmistakable distance between them now, much more profound than the physical distance that normally separates them.  He returned to Imperial Center two weeks ago and they both know they’ve been avoiding one another.   
    
He stares down at this woman, the mother of his children, the woman he loves; the  _only_  woman he will  _ever_  love.  The charade grows old for both of them.  Luke and Leia have started school, Annaé is a toddler, walking and quickly learning to talk.  He doesn’t know his children.  He will never know them.  It is an impossible risk he is not willing to take.    
    
His long months on the Imperial frontier provided ample opportunity for reflection.  Padmé miscarried her third pregnancy very early.  No official announcement had been made that she was expecting.  He doesn't know if that makes it easier or harder.  It's as if their child never existed at all.  He grieved the loss of a child he would never know, at the same time grieving for the loss of Luke, Leia and Annaé.  His living children are as lost to him as the tiny life.    
    
He thinks perhaps the Force is trying to deliver a none too subtle hint.   
    
Perhaps it is time he lets Padmé go.   
    
He has been cursed with agonizingly long months to consider his next step.  Padmé’s life would be safer,  _better_  without him.  The same for the children.  It both wounds and enrages him to contemplate living without her, to imagine her happy with the Viceroy.  Yet more and more often, he does imagine such a fate.   
    
It shames him to realize in spite of his monstrous visage, he is vain enough to require female companionship.  It is a weakness, his greatest failing as both a Jedi and a Sith.  He needs human attachments, human contact.  He may find the strength to free Padmé, but he cannot live chastely in her absence.    
    
He has considered the perks and pitfalls of a relationship with Lieutenant Hess.  Such a relationship would be free of the constant fear of discovery.  Lieutenant Hess is a creature of pure ambition.  He knows she sees a connection with him as an easy ascent to Imperial heights.  There is no chance his heart would be involved – much less wounded - in a relationship with the good doctor.    
    
Such an arrangement would also have the benefit of further camouflaging his attachment to Padmé.  He doesn’t believe the Emperor suspects anything, but he has learned to never underestimate his master.  Forming a highly visible relationship with Lieutenant Hess would divert any unwanted attention from Padmé and the children.   
    
“Are you leaving me?” Padmé asks quietly.   
    
He looks at her, dumbfounded.   
    
She smiles at him softly.  “You would make a very poor politician, Anakin.”   
    
He turns away, crossing his arms over his bare chest, feeling absurdly vulnerable.   
    
"You  _are_  leaving me," she says softy, shock resonating clearly in her voice.   
    
He shakes his head sharply, still not facing her. "No," he says.  "I mean, I don't know.  I haven't made any decisions."   
    
She steps closer, not touching him, but so close he can almost feel the heat from her body.  He hears the threat of tears in her voice when she says, " _Your_ decision.  I see."  She takes a deep breath.  "Do you love her?"   
    
He laughs aloud, turning to face her.  She is confused, wounded.  He shakes his head, leaning in close.  "No, Senator," he says softly, vehemently.  "I do not love her."   
    
Her brow furrows and her pain gives way to irritation.  "I don't understand you."   
    
He shrugs, staring blindly out the window.  Padmé isn’t the only one confused by this troublesome new territory.  He hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in months.  The lone lamp sitting on his elegantly stylized desk provides enough light that when he looks at the darkened window, he doesn't see the skyline, but the room's reflection.  Padmé stands behind him, staring at his back.  He can see the heartbreak etched on her features.   
    
He takes a deep breath and releases it.  "I am thirty standard years in age."   
    
She blinks at him.  "I already knew that."   
    
He turns, frowning at her.  He has no idea how to articulate the churning mass of emotions in his heart and mind.  What galls him the most is that in the last few months he has come to truly appreciate some of the lessons Obi-Wan so laboriously (and fruitlessly) tried to teach him.  Sometimes, it is necessary to deny one's self the object of one's desires.  There  _can_  be danger in attachment.    
    
He is not a big enough hypocrite to delude himself into believing he has found the strength and maturity to stop loving Padmé, but perhaps he no longer needs to keep her chained to him.  He grieves the loss of the boldness he felt when pursuing Padmé after the battle of Geonosis.  He was so self-assured, so absolutely convinced they belonged together.  He believed they could beat the odds, that it was worth any price to be together.  These days he is convinced he was an absurdly naïve child who carelessly endangered both their futures and the futures of their children.    
    
"I’m not … a boy anymore," he says, feeling intensely lame.    
    
"Well, that  _is_  a relief," she replies sarcastically.   
    
His frown turns even more sour.  "I'm trying to truly be a man.  I'm trying to do what's best."   
    
"And leaving me is for the best?" she demands.  "Leaving our children?"   
    
He flinches as if she struck him, his pride grievously wounded.  "I can't leave  _our_  children," he snaps bitterly.  "They've never truly been mine."  He looks out the window and then back to her.  "I'm an orphan," he snarls.  "Alone.  The  _only_  Skywalker.  Can you even begin to appreciate how difficult it is for me to know my children, my flesh and blood are so close?  Everyone remarks on how much Leia looks like you, but when I see her, I see my mother.  It's almost painful to look at her.  Everyone tries to figure out who Annaé resembles.  She resembles  _me!_ "  He stops for a moment, raking his hand through his hair in frustration.  Crossing his arms over his chest, he gives Padmé a sharp look.  "Luke is my only son.  Do you want to imagine how many times I have fantasized about helping him build a light saber or learn to fly a speeder?"  His words trail off the longer he talks, his rage replaced by frustration and sadness.   
    
She watches him carefully, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.    
    
He looks away, not wanting to see her pain.  He doesn't want to feel as sorry for her as he feels for himself.  He wants to lash out at someone.  He starts to pace the living room, his anger simmering again.  "What about you?" he demands.  "What about your husband?  You accuse me of infidelity while you return to his bed every night.  Is that what you want?  Me alone, chastely pining away for you while you and the Viceroy live a model life with  _my_  children?"   
    
“I would never wish for you to be lonely, Anakin,” she whispers.   
    
Listening to her soft words, he regrets his accusations.  Padmé is many things, but cruel is not among them.  She would never wish to torture him.  He kept these emotions secret from her for a very long time.  He didn't want to upset her.  He didn't want to admit how agonizingly isolated he feels.    
    
He closes the distance between them, pulling her close, cupping her cheek in his hand.  “Padmé.”   
    
“Lieutenant Hess is very beautiful,” Padmé grudgingly admits, unable to keep the jealousy from tainting her words.  "And blonde.”  She pulls away, putting several steps between them.  She doesn’t go far.  “And young."  She turns to face him.  "I'm sure she could give you children."   
    
The desire to smash his fist through the wall in frustration is nearly overwhelming.    
    
"I don't want more children," he says tightly.   
    
Too late, he realizes the folly of his words.  But she has already looked away, a tear streaking down her cheek.   
    
He goes to her, turning her toward him, though she still refuses to meet his gaze.  "I love the children," he says.  "I want them.  I wanted the baby we lost."  She finally looks up at him.  "I have absolutely no intention of having a family with Lieutenant Hess or anyone else."   
    
She pulls away from him.  Her arms are wrapped protectively around her body.  "Of course not," she says quickly.  "I know you wouldn't.  The Emperor would be as much of a threat to your children with another woman as he is to our children."   
    
He watches her carefully.  "That's true.  But it's not why I wouldn't do it."   
    
She looks at him skeptically.  "You'd rather chastely pine for me?"   
    
He doesn't react to her throwing his words back at him.  He expected as much when he said them.  He suspects her long years in politics make it more habit than any true desire to wound him.  "I love you.   _You_  are the mother of my children."   
    
She sniffles, looking away.  "But you're leaving me."   
    
"I didn't say that," he corrects.   
    
"But you're considering it."   
    
He nods, looking down at his hands, one flesh, one artificial.  Why she would want him baffles him.  She is supposed to be the reasonable one, the voice of maturity and duty.  Only now is he realizing perhaps he has forced her too far.  Perhaps it is now incumbent upon  _him_  to make the difficult decisions.   
    
He clenches both fists.  "I am considering it."   
    
She is quiet a long time, staring blindly at the expensive painting decorating the living room wall.  He didn’t pick it out.  It came with the apartment.  He doubts Padmé has ever given it a moment's notice.  And he doubts she truly sees it now.   
    
“Is it because of the baby?” she asks quietly.  “Is that why you’re leaving?”   
    
He can’t prevent the wave of pain and shame that washes over him.  Before he can school his features into a mask of indifference, she turns.    
    
“I see,” she says, her voice a trembling whisper.  She takes a deep breath, looking away.  “I’m sorry, Anakin.”   
    
“See what?”   
    
She gives him a wry, watery smile.  “It was my fault."   
    
He stares at her, dumbstruck.  "Your fault?"   
    
She nods, looking away.  "Women weren't made to have children forever.  The doctor warned me that my age could be a factor.  Birth defects and miscarriage are more common as maternal age increases."   
    
He is silent so long, Padmé finally turns to look at him and finds him gaping at her.  "What?"   
    
"I'm barely  _human_  and you think it's your fault?” he demands incredulously.  “It's not you, Padmé, it's  _me_."   
    
She stares at him, truly confused.  "What do you mean you're barely human?  Of course you're human.  How could you think otherwise?"   
    
He gestures impatiently to the scars covering most of his visible skin.    
    
"You were  _injured_ , Anakin.  You're talking like you think you're Grievous."   
    
He can't look at her.   
    
" _Anakin_."  She closes the distance between them, placing her palm against his cheek and forcing him to meet her gaze.  "You're a man, Anakin, not a monster."  
    
He stares at her mutely.  His gaze drops to his chest, to the raw, angry scars that comprise his flesh.  He hold up his prosthetic arm, flexing his mechanical hand.  "Really?"   
    
Padmé looks at him for a moment and then lowers her eyes.  “Lieutenant Hess obviously finds you attractive.”   
    
“Kyah Hess is an opportunistic bitch.  I could be a Hutt and she’d still offer to fuck me.”   
    
Padmé frowns at him, irritated her attempt at appealing to his vanity failed so spectacularly.  “What about me?” she demands.  “If Lt. Hess is mercenary, what does that make me?  I jeopardize my marriage to be with you.  I’m the mother of your children.  If you think so little of yourself, what must you think of me?”   
    
He studies her silently.  “I think you’re an angel,” he answers honestly.   
    
She rolls her eyes.  “And I think you’re being maudlin and overly dramatic.  You’re a man, Anakin.  Nothing more, nothing less.  And I continue our relationship because I love you and I am attracted to you."  Her expression turns bitterly wry and she adds, "And quite possibly because I've gone completely mad.”   
    
He looks away, frowning sourly.  She is right, of course, he is human.  And he is being overly maudlin and dramatic.  But he cannot deny there are days when he feels decidedly  _in_ human, removed from the entire species, set aside like some piecemeal monster of Palpatine’s creation.  It is a sentiment he knows his master does everything to encourage.  Palpatine wants him set apart from humanity.  He wants, no  _needs_  him to be feared throughout the galaxy.   
    
Yet despite how fearsome he may seem to the majority of the galaxy's inhabitants, he finds himself more fearful by the day.  Every day Luke, Leia and Annaé grow stronger.  He watches them from a distance and he can feel them shining in the Force like impossibly small but  bright beacons in a sea of darkness.  He hopes beyond hope it is his connection to them, his affinity for them that makes it seem this way.  He prays the Emperor has not noticed them.    
    
“I want you to take the children and go to Alderaan,” he finally says.   
    
Her brow furrows.  “No.”   
    
He looks at her, his features tightening.  “It’s dangerous to keep the children in such close proximity to the Emperor, especially when I’m on the other side of the galaxy.  I would be unable to protect them.”   
    
“I can protect them,” she says with determination.   
    
One eyebrow arches in disbelief.  “Palpatine destroyed the entire Jedi Order.  One former Senator will not stand in his way.”   
    
Her cheeks flame with insult, but they both know he’s right.    
    
“They are the legally recognized children of an Imperial Senator,” she says.  “Palpatine needs the Senate.  He can’t simply abscond with people’s children.  There are limits.”   
    
He stares at her for a moment, knowing they are both thinking the same thing, Palpatine has no limits.  He shakes his head.  “You  _have_  to go.”   
    
She crosses her arms over her chest, defiantly meeting his gaze.  “I won’t run.”   
    
“It’s not about you.  It’s about keeping the children safe.”   
    
He can see her jaw muscles clench.  “That’s not fair,” she hisses quietly.   
    
His lips purse together in a bitter smile.  How many times did he utter those exact words to Obi-Wan?  Older now, wiser and disillusioned, he knows the truth.  “Life isn’t fair.”   
    
She looks away for a moment and then back to him.  “I love our children and I would do anything to protect them, but I will not hide us away on Alderaan.  And I don’t appreciate you trying to use them to manipulate me.”   
    
“I’m trying to keep all of you safe.”   
    
“If Palpatine truly suspects something, it won’t matter where we hide.  It’s safer to maintain a high public profile.  Palpatine is evil, but he’s not stupid.”   
    
“He’s the Emperor.  He’ll do anything he damn well pleases.”   
    
She shakes her head.  “No he won’t.  Despite the propaganda the Empire churns out, his control is not absolute.  He needs you.  He needs the Senate.  Maintaining control is always harder than winning it in the first place.”   
    
He turns away.  As much as it pains him to admit, she has a point.    
    
“This is all a ruse.  You’re trying to end our relationship on  _your_  terms,” she accuses, her voice tightly measured.  “The children and I aren’t available at your convenience, Anakin.”   
    
He rounds on her quickly, snapping, “Nothing about this relationship has ever been convenient.”   
    
Her eyes narrow as she watches him.  Slowly, she crosses the distance that separates them.  He watches as she lightly traces one perfectly manicured fingernail up the length of his unmarred left arm.  “You are as much mine as I am yours,” she says quietly.  “And I will not give you up to some blonde bimbo with a medical degree and a military rank.”   
    
He knows it’s dangerous and stupid, but a tendril of dark pleasure curls in the pit of his stomach at her jealous, possessive words.  She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, with a fiery passion and intellect to match.  Inexplicably, she wants him.    
    
She steps closer, her silk-draped body barely brushing against his naked chest.  Her fingertips skim over his skin, coming to rest at the waistband of his pants, tickling the unmarred flesh.  She lowers her head for several moments and then looks up at him from beneath her dark lashes.  She sways back and forth slightly, biting down on her bottom lip.  “What’s she like?” she asks in a bare whisper.   
    
“Who?” he asks dumbly, every bit of his attention focused on Padmé.   
    
She gives him a sultry, satisfied smile.  “Your young Lieutenant.”   
    
He shakes his head slightly, trying to focus on what she’s asking.  Impatiently, he frowns.  “I don’t know.”  He doesn’t want to think about Kyah Hess.  He wants to think about Padmé.  And touch Padmé.  And taste Padmé.  And have Padmé.  Of its own volition, one of his hands traces the bare flesh of the delicate shoulder artfully revealed by her ballgown.    
    
“Is her skin soft?”   
    
He leans in closer, dipping his head to skim his lips along the column of her neck.  Her skin is warm and fragrant, subtly perfumed with the scent of ladalum blossoms.  “I don’t know,” he answers distractedly, “I never touched her.”  His hand finds Padmé’s hip, pulling her flush against his body while he nips along her neck and jaw.  She lifts her hand, threading it through his hair, pulling his lips to her own.   
    
Their tongues tangle wetly and he groans, knowing any plan he had to end things with Padmé is as good as dead.  He isn’t strong enough to fight this war – and he isn’t certain he ever truly wanted to win at all.  He quickly cedes total victory to Padmé, pulling her even closer.  His fingers find the clasps at the back of her dress, nimbly releasing them until the lavish gown is nothing more than a pile of silk pooling around her feet.   
    
His pulse quickens as he realizes she wore nothing beneath her gown.  He watched her so intently during the dinner that he knew for certain she was wearing undergarments.  The thought of her calculatedly removing them in the shuttle on her way to the apartment has him rock hard in seconds.  He kisses her deeply, running his hands over her naked flesh, languishing in the feel of her skin against his own.  The sensations aren’t the same as before his injuries.  Too many of his nerve endings have been irreparably damaged.  But his eyes still function perfectly and the sight of her creamy pale, flawless skin pressed oh so willingly against his own marred flesh is a potent aphrodisiac.  In this capacity, at least, he is still completely whole, completely virile.   
    
 _"Ani_ ," she begs, fighting to get impossibly closer.   
    
He chuckles softly, savoring her impatient hunger.  He urges her backwards, step after step until her bare buttocks connect with the desk.  She makes a small, startled sound as he effortlessly lifts her and sets her on the edge.  Before she fully comprehends his intentions, he has insinuated himself between her thighs, splaying her knees wide to accommodate his body.  He sifts through the wiry hair covering her sex and growls deep in his throat at the feel of her intimate moisture quickly coating his questing fingers.   
    
"Did it excite you to fight over me?" he asks in a wicked tone, knowing full well it did.    
    
She doesn’t reply, too lost in sensation.  Each of her hands clasps one of his biceps, her fingernails biting into his muscles as he fondles her intimately.  Her eyelids fall shut, her breathing rapid and shallow.  He teases her.  Fingertips coated with her own moisture circle her clitoris, applying just enough pressure to tantalize before backing off.    
    
She whimpers, her eyes fluttering open as her eager hands find the waistband of his black trousers, quickly releasing the fly and pushing the material down over his hips.    
    
While he loves the breathy whimpers his teasing elicits, neither of them is in the mood for a protracted coupling.  They have been too long without one another.  Foregoing further preliminaries, he pulls her to the very edge of the table.  Her legs instinctively lock around his waist as he guides the head of his cock to her entrance.  Slowly, he pushes inside her welcoming warmth.    
    
Their position is not ideal and he knows it must be uncomfortable for her, but the groan she makes is not one of pain.  He continues, not stopping until his entire length is buried deep within her body.  He rests there a moment, his breathing labored.  It has been so long since he felt this connection with her and the sensations are nearly overwhelming.  He looks down at her, noticing her tears.  Releasing a shuddering breath, he cups her cheek in his hand, wiping away the tears with the pad of his thumb.   
    
“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.   
    
She looks up at him, meeting his gaze, her eyes wide and bright.  Quickly, she shakes her head.  “I love you,” she whispers.   
    
He smiles and captures her lips in a searing kiss.  She meets his kiss with equal ardor, biting down gently on his lower lip, her fingers threading through his hair.  It’s more than he can take and he has to move, withdrawing slightly and pushing back into her body.  She breaks the kiss to gasp at the sensation and he urges her to lay back on the desk.  She does, her luminous, pale skin offset sharply by the ebony wood of the desk.  Her rosy pink nipples contract to hard points in the cool air and her dark locks fallen loose from their pins cascade around her like shimmersilk.  This position is more conducive to their coupling and he glides slickly in and out of her body, his hands biting into her hips as he drives into her.    
    
She arches her back, tightening her legs around his waist.  "Missed you," she pants, her fingernails digging into his forearms.   
    
He missed her as well, but he is beyond the capacity for speech.  All of his concentration is centered on her tight, wet heat around his cock, her breathy moans of pleasure.  It was insanity to think he could ever live without this.  One of his hands releases her hip and his fingers find her clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts.  Her breath catches and her body shivers as her climax overtakes her.    
    
He grits his teeth, continuing to pump into her as he feels her orgasm shudder along the rigid length of his cock.  It's too much and he tries to pull away, but her legs lock tightly around him, holding him inside her.  " _Padmé,"_  he begs, but she rolls her hips, flexing her vaginal muscles around his cock and he is lost.  He spills inside her, his body shuddering with the force of his release.   
    
He braces his palms on the table on either side of Padmé’s hips, hanging his head as he tries to regain his breath.  After several moments, he lifts his head and looks at her, his lips twisted into a wry expression.    
    
Gently, he urges her legs from around his waist, pulling her into a sitting position.  He takes the several steps to retrieve his discarded tunic, placing the coarse, dark material around her shoulders before re-fastening his trousers.   
    
She folds her knees up to her chest as she perches on the edge of the desk, pulling his tunic tighter around her body until she is completely covered.  One of her hands fists in the fabric and she pulls it closer to her face, inhaling the scent.  She looks up and realizes he’s watching her.  Caught in the act, she smiles a small, self-conscious smile.  “It smells like you,” she says quietly.   
    
He snorts.  “I’d wager you do too at this point,” he says sourly.   
    
She frowns.  “Just enjoy the moment.”   
    
“This is _lunacy_ ,” he snaps, pacing in a tight circle.  With the heat of passion gone and the afterglow quickly fading, he is once again assaulted with the reality of just how ill-conceived his actions have been.   _Again_.  He stops pacing and looks at her.  “What if you get pregnant?”   
    
“Pregnant?” she repeats sarcastically.  “I don’t see how that could happen.  I’m too old and you’re not even human.”   
    
 _”Padmé.”_    
   
She rolls her eyes, hopping off the desk and crossing the room to stare out the panoramic windows.  She stands there for several long minutes.  “I want another child.”   
    
He groans, coming to stand at her side.  “It’s too dangerous.”   
    
She looks up at him, her features pinched with irritation.  “You and I,” she says impatiently, motioning with her hand between their two bodies, “will  _always_  be dangerous.  First you were a Jedi and I was a Senator.  Now I’m married and you’re Palpatine’s apprentice.  Anakin, it’s doomed, but it is  _our_  life.  The only chance we get.  I love you and I love the baby we lost and I want to have another child before it’s no longer an option.”   
    
He looks down at her, silence hanging between them.  With a sigh, he looks away.    
    
“I do too,” he says quietly.  It shames him to admit it, but it’s true.  He does want another child.  Not to replace the baby they lost.  Nothing can ever replace that baby.  He wants another child because he loves Padmé and he knows no greater joy in his miserable excuse for a life than seeing her with their children.  He knows it’s a bad idea, but it seems like his entire life has been one bad idea after another and considering how he just spent the last hour, it occurs to him that perhaps the bad ideas occasionally to lead to good outcomes.   
    
He sighs, reaching out for Padmé’s hand and she eagerly twines her fingers through his, allowing him to pull her close.  Palpatine is still a threat.  He will always be a threat and there is no doubt that grave consequences are inevitable.  But it won’t happen today.   Or tomorrow.  And allowing the fear of what Palpatine might do dictate their actions feels too much like the Emperor has already won.    
    
He places a gentle kiss on the top of Padmé’s head.   
    
“How long will you be on Coruscant?” she asks.   
    
He shrugs.  “Until the Emperor devises another test for me.”   
    
Her hand rests on his chest, over his heart.  The skin beneath her fingertips is uneven and discolored.  “What happened with the Chiss?”   
    
“Everything turned out to the Empire’s advantage.”   
    
“That’s not what I asked.”   
    
He looks down at her.  “I know.”   
    
She frowns, knowing he won’t elaborate.  She also knows the reality of what happened to him along the Chiss border is probably far worse than she can even imagine.  “If you won’t tell me, then at least do me a favor.”   
    
“What?”   
    
“Give your talented young lieutenant a promotion and send her on her way.”   
    
The smile slowly spreads across his face.  “I believe Captain Hess will be a valuable asset to Admiral Ozzel’s command.”   
  


	4. Patient History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set the morning after Negotiations.

Lieutenant Kyah Hess studies the datapad as she enters the private examination room. She does this because it affords her the opportunity to not immediately acknowledge her patient. In truth, she reviewed the test results hours ago. But the datapad provides cover. She can pretend her full attention isn’t absolutely fixated on him. She doesn’t like any man – not even Lord Vader – to think he can ever command her full attention. The secret to keeping a man interested is to always remain a bit beyond his reach. Especially given Lord Vader's unannounced arrival this morning, she doesn’t want to appear too available.  
  
It’s a ruse, of course. Given the subtlest invitation, she would gladly warm Lord Vader’s bed. As a military surgeon, she has seen no end of physical horrors. In truth, she finds his imperfections appealing in their own twisted way. They make him attainable. It helps that not many women are as enlightened as she. While females are undoubtedly drawn to his power and presence, she doubts many women are willing to risk peeking beneath his zeyd cloth robes.  
  
Lord Vader is a powerful, intimidating man. Yet she perceives a vulnerability within him that has nothing to do with his physical frailties. He doesn’t confide in her. Point of fact, he rarely speaks and certainly is not one to make polite conversation. But she clearly senses his loneliness. Given how he refuses to look at his own wounds, she knows he is self-conscious. It’s entirely possible he doesn’t believe any woman is capable of physically desiring him.  
  
But she wants him. She longs to run her hands over his body, not as a surgeon, but as his lover. She longs to set aside the necessary professionalism and show him just how desirable she finds him, just how powerful he truly is. There will be plenty of time for that. She received word today that the  _Executor_  will be stationed at Imperial Center indefinitely. Without the Chiss hovering in the periphery, perhaps she will be able to teach Lord Vader what a truly valuable asset she is to the Empire.  
  
“My Lord,” she says, looking up from the datapad with a sultry smile. “Your test results are precisely on target. Better than I hoped for, in fact. But I didn’t realize you would be dropping by this morning.”  
  
“I didn’t come here for a progress report,” he says. “I want to speak with you privately.”  
  
Her smile broadens, but his face remains passive. She continues to look at him and he eventually turns away uncomfortably.  
  
“Your service record is exemplary,” he says, staring at the medical degrees prominently displayed on the wall.  
  
“Thank you, my Lord,” she says, feigning humility. Of course her record is exemplary. She has worked hard for everything she has.  
  
He turns back to her, looking her directly in the eyes. “It won’t be official until tomorrow, but you are being promoted to the rank of Captain.”  
  
“Captain?” she says happily. She knew that a close association with Lord Vader would help her career, but she had no idea it would happen so quickly.  
  
“Yes,” he confirms. “And a new position has just opened up as Chief Medical Officer of the  _Reprisal_.”  
  
Her smile falters. “The  _Reprisal_ ,” she says. “That’s Ozzel’s ship.”  
  
He clasps his hands behind his back. “Yes.”  
  
She takes a moment to try and comprehend what is transpiring. “I’m being promoted,” she says.  
  
He nods.  
  
“And moved halfway across the galaxy.”  
  
“The  _Reprisal_  is stationed in the Selsha Sector,” he confirms.  
  
She stares at him for a moment and then another. How did she misplay this situation so disastrously? The promotion is definitely cause for celebration, as is finally being given the title of Chief Medical Officer. But being stationed in the Selsha Sector with  _Ozzel_  of all people is certainly neither expected nor desired.  
  
She tries to regroup. He said the promotion wouldn’t be effective until tomorrow. Perhaps there is still time. She certainly won’t turn down the promotion, but perhaps her post is negotiable.  
  
She purses her lips seductively and looks up at him. “Who will be your new personal physician?” she asks coyly. “I will need to make certain all of the appropriate records are transferred.”  
  
“That won’t be necessary,” he says. “Thanks to your expert care, medical droids should now be more than sufficient.”  
  
She tsks gently. “Droids aren’t a substitute for a competent physician. Your case is complex.”  
  
“I am no different from the thousands of other soldiers wounded in battle.”  
  
“Hardly, my Lord,” she counters. “You are one of the Empire’s most valuable assets.”  
  
He looks at her, smiling mirthlessly. There is a hard edge to his expression. A knowing look that informs her she isn’t the only one who has been playing coy. It appears he grasped far more of her intentions than she realized. “This is not open for discussion,  _Doctor_.”  
  
She stares at him, confused. There is an odd playfulness in his tone that undercuts his words. Perhaps they both feel a rush from finally (somewhat) openly acknowledging the mutual attraction that has always simmered just below the surface of their interactions.  
  
“Then I ask you a personal favor, My Lord. As a parting gift.”  
  
He looks at her both shocked and amused by her audacity. “What, Captain Hess?”  
  
“I would like to examine your grafts,” she says. “I simply would not feel comfortable turning you over to medical droids without a final examination.”  
  
Her request has the opposite effect she intended. She can almost feel him pull away from her. Though he doesn’t move, he visibly retreats. “That won’t be necessary.”  
  
Left with no other options, she pushes harder, rushing the words, “I insist, my Lord.”  
  
He looks at her and if she didn’t know better, she would swear there was a slight blush to his cheeks. “As you wish, Doctor.”  
  
She swallows thickly feeling suddenly awkward. While she has no compunction about leveraging every one of her assets to her best advantage, up until now, that has consisted of innuendo and flirtation. She has never before actually attempted to seduce either a superior officer or a patient. She finds it to be startlingly uncomfortable territory. Self-consciously, she clears her throat. “If you would remove your cloak and shirts,” she says, mortified to feel her own cheeks burning with a blush.  
  
There is a decidedly discomfiting awareness between the two of them as he shrugs out of his cloak. She can feel her pulse beat faster as his hands grasp first his tunic and then his under tunic, pulling them over his head. Bare to the waist, he turns to face her, his eyes a darker blue than she ever thought possible.  
  
She forces her attention away from his face, retreating behind her medical training. She is beginning to suspect there is far more of her heart involved in her association with Lord Vader than she ever dared consider. She makes herself assess him not as a man, but as a patient. After years of practice, it is quite easy.  
  
The grafts are healing well. She was hopeful before the surgery that she could provide him with a great deal of pain relief. But even she is shocked at just how superbly he healed. She has no idea why his previous doctors weren’t able to do more.  
  
And then as suddenly as it began, the examination is over. And she is no longer a doctor, but a woman, standing very close to a half-naked man. She swallows thickly again and is about to speak when something catches her eye. Without thinking, she reaches out and grasps his left arm, studying it closely. She runs her hands lightly over the abrasions on his forearms. Her fingers trail upwards, finding more abrasions on his bicep. She automatically grasps the other arm, finding matching abrasions on the flesh of his right bicep.  
  
She frowns up at him. “What happened?” she demands, not waiting for him to answer as she continues her inspection. She walks around him and gasps aloud at the network of abrasions on his back. Again, she traces them with her fingertips. “What did this? It looks almost like …”   
  
Her voice trails off and she drops her arms, feeling as if she has just been doused with a bucket of ice cold water. “Scratches,” she finishes.  
  
Hands firmly at her side, she retraces her steps until she is once again standing directly in front of him.   
  
He meets her gaze unabashed, no doubt feeling smug. She wrongly assumed his injuries – and his loathing toward them - precluded him from having a physical relationship with a woman. Obviously, that is not the case.  
  
“They will heal,” he says.  
  
She nods, smiling in perverse amusement at the absurdity of situation. “Indeed.” She cannot believe she misread him so profoundly. He may have been lonely stationed on the  _Executor_  along the Chiss border, but he obviously isn’t unaccustomed to female attention.   
  
Yet, she refuses to deny the attraction she knows is mutual. “Is this why I’m being promoted?” she asks brazenly.  
  
His face is perfectly impassive for a moment as he studies her. “You are a gifted surgeon. You would have been promoted regardless.”  
  
“But this is why it’s happening  _now_ ,” she presses. “This is why I’m being moved to the Selsha Sector.”  
  
“Yes,” he finally admits.  
  
“Is she worth it?” she dares to ask.  
  
His smile is answer enough. “Good luck, doctor.”


	5. Bloodlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set 15 years after RotS.

The party is everything Leia expected it to be – which is exactly why she didn’t want to come.  The music is deafeningly loud.  Bodies pack every millimeter of available space.  Despite the fact that almost everyone present is close to Leia's age of fifteen, alcohol and other far more potent diversions are readily available. 

    
When she gets splashed with someone else's beverage for at least the tenth time, Leia finally reaches her limit.  “I’m leaving,” she shouts in Jori’s general direction.   
    
He frowns at her.  “Huh?”  Leia is struck yet again by how handsome he is.  He's somewhat on the short side, but that hardly matters.  His curly dark hair and bright green eyes captivate her almost as much as his smile.  And still, he isn't worth enduring this party.   
    
Leia points to herself and then the door.  She turns on her heel without waiting to see if Jori is following.  She likes him but this isn’t her idea of a good time. She doesn’t particularly like Neesah Visht or the group of spoiled uber-rich girls with whom she surrounds herself.  They’ve always been nice enough to Leia, but she watches them.  She sees the cruelty they display to other girls who are too weak or shy or defend themselves.  Leia is breaking curfew to be here with Jori and while she enjoys his company, she’s not having near enough fun to offset how much trouble she will be in come morning.   
    
Leia makes her way out of the gargantuan penthouse owned by the Visht family with Jori on her heels.  Outside the main entrance is a sprawling rooftop arboretum.  The party spilled outside and there is a raging bonfire ringed by several dozen inebriated teenagers.   
    
Some of the older boys dance around the fire, showing off for the girls.  One of them is obviously pretending to be the Emperor’s henchman, Vader.  Draped in a black cloak that obscures his face, he talks in a rasping voice.  Leia considers the joke to be in particularly bad taste.  One of the girls seated nearby, Inarra Deloaria is dumbstruck as she watches the display.    
    
Over the last decade Inarra's family experienced a meteoric rise in power and wealth thanks to certain biotechnologies pioneered by Inarra's mother.  It catapulted them into the stratosphere of Coruscant's social elite.  However, as a counterpoint to his bookish and driven wife, Inarra's father is infamous for his overindulgence in wine and women.  The man apparently ran afoul of Lord Vader at a recent Imperial dinner.    
    
In a matter of weeks, Inarra's family was stripped of most of their status and money.  Leia noticed how quickly Neesah's circle of friends cooled toward Inarra. Leia is quite shocked that Inarra is even at this party and she finds it unforgivably cruel of the boy to ridicule Inarra so openly.   
    
Leia approaches the bonfire.  Jori grabs her arm attempting to pull her back, but she shrugs him off.  "Stop it!" she yells at the boy pretending to be Vader.   
    
The boy pulls back the black hood and scowls at Leia.  "What's your problem?" he demands.   
    
Jori continues to try and pull Leia away, but she ignores him.  "It's not funny," she informs the boy.   
    
Inarra jumps to her feet, glaring at Leia.  "I don't need help," she bites out.  "Especially from  _you_."   
    
Leia stares at Inarra, shocked.  It's true the two were never close, but Leia has no idea what she did to offend Inarra.  "I was only trying to help," Leia replies, hurt.   
    
"I don't need help from the daughter of a whore!"   
    
Leia opens her mouth, but before she can reply, Jori succeeds in pulling her away from the bonfire and ushering her toward the turbolift.  Leia lets him.  She is stunned, hurt, confused.  They enter the turbolift and Jori pushes the floor for the pedestrian mall.  Leia stares at him blankly.   
    
"That was really uncalled for," Jori says quietly.  "Inarra shouldn't have said that.  You were only trying to help."   
    
"What was she talking about?" Leia whispers.   
    
Jori shrugs and looks away.  He finally meets Leia's gaze again and seems genuinely shocked that she is still watching him expectantly.  "Are you serious?" he asks.  "You really don't know?"   
    
"Don't know what?" Leia demands, her confusion morphing into anger.   
    
Jori opens his mouth, but doesn't speak.  He's saved by the turbolift door opening and he quickly exits the lift.  Leia follows him, glaring.  He starts walking toward the public transport stop, ignoring Leia's pointed expression.   
    
"You're going to tell me," Leia informs him.   
    
Jori finally stops walking and turns to face Leia.  "It's nothing," he says uncomfortably.  "You know.  Rumors.  Bullshit."   
    
"What rumors?" Leia asks darkly.  She is quickly tiring of having to ask him time and time again.   
    
Jori finally sighs in defeat.  "Your mom," he says quietly.  "But you know how it goes.  People get jealous and suspicious and they make things up."   
    
Leia ignores most of his words.  "What about my mom?"   
    
"You know," he says uncomfortably.  "That she, uh, she …  _you know_.  It's a  _rumor_ , Leia.  A rumor.  People lie all the time.  I mean it's probably not even possible.  No one even knows if Vader's even human under those robes."   
    
"Vader?" Leia repeats incredulously.  Then it clicks.  "Vader and  _my mother?”_ she yells, aghast.  “That's a lie! _"_    
    
"Hey look, I didn't make it up, okay," Jori says, backpedaling.  "Besides, I thought you knew."   
    
" _Why would I know_?  It's not something I talk about around the dinner table with my mother and  _my father_  and my sister and brothers."   
    
Jori holds his hands up in surrender.  "Don't shoot the messenger."   
    
Leia is still angry, but she forces herself to calm down.  Crossing her arms over her chest, she stares at Jori.  "What else do you know?   
    
He shrugs.  "I heard Inarra's dad made a pass at your mom at some Imperial dinner," he says.    
    
"And that means my mom is having an affair  _with Vader?_ " Leia stammers incredulously.  "It's a lie.  A sad, pathetic lie.  My mom and my dad have been married for years.  They're very happy."   
    
Jori doesn't look convinced, but he is far too bright to push the issue with Leia.  "I didn't say it was true.  I just said it's what I heard."   
    
Huffing in irritation, she turns and stalks toward the public transport stop.  This night is  _so_  not worth getting grounded for.   
    
***   
    
Leia doesn’t allow Jori to escort her to the door.  She is far too upset and she needs some time alone.  The fates must take pity on her because she is able to sneak into the apartment without running into either of her parents.  Tiptoeing, she makes her way through the apartment and out onto the sprawling veranda. Curling up on one of the curved couches, she stares out at the busy night skyline.   
    
 _Vader._   Leia’s mind immediately, reflexively shuns the idea.  But she persists.  She forces herself to think about him, to consider Inarra’s cruel taunt as well as Jori’s information.  Vader is the boogeyman, the Emperor’s terrifying beast.  He’s a creature and Leia knows for a fact she has never considered if he is human. She’s never met him, never seen him up close.  She knows his voice rasps because everyone knows his voice rasps, but she has never actually heard him with her own ears.   
    
Her mother and Vader?  The idea is so repulsive, so hurtful that she doesn’t even want to think about it.  Her mother loves her father.  Her parents are happy.   
    
But at the back of her mind are the niggling rumors she has ignored for years.  None of them ever mentioned Vader, but she knows people have questioned her mother’s devotion to her father.  Leia has always shrugged it off, denying any possibility of truth.   
    
And yet …   
    
She looks like her mother, everyone says so and Leia would be the first to agree.  But Luke …  He looks nothing like their father.  Where their father is tall, Luke is short.  Where their father is swarthy, Luke is fair.  And while it is most evident with Luke, the truth is none of the Organa children particularly resemble their father.  Ten year old Annaé is tall, but willow thin with long curling golden blonde hair and eyes the same pure blue as Luke’s.  Ru, the youngest at eight, shows signs that he may one day be as tall as their father.  His hair is the same chestnut brown as both Padmé and Leia’s, but his eyes are a cool, mossy green.   
    
It wounds Leia deeply to even consider the idea that there is any truth to the vicious rumors.  How could it be true?  She has fifteen years of happy memories as evidence to the contrary.  Family vacations spent in Naboo’s lake country, holiday mornings in front of a roaring fire in Aldera Royal Palace; there are scores upon scores of memories that attest to how happy and whole her family is.   
    
They are wrong.  All of them.  Inarra.  Jori.  They know nothing.  Leia knows her family.   
    
***   
    
Padmé is standing in the living room, looking out the window when Leia exits her bedroom early the next morning.  Padmé turns, watching her daughter carefully as she sips her caf.   
    
“Where is everyone?” Leia asks quietly.   
    
“Your father took Ru with him to inspect Senator Mott’s newest ship.  Annaé is at dance class with Sheltay and Winter.  Luke is still in bed.”   
    
Leia nods and sits down on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her body.   
    
“You got in kind of late last night,” Padmé says carefully.   
    
Frowning, Leia looks at the floor.  “Yeah,” she mumbles.  “Sorry.”   
    
“You know your father is going to stop letting Jori take you out if you can’t return home at a decent hour,” Padmé continues.   
    
Leia nods.  She looks out the window.  She and Padmé remain silent for several long moments.   
    
“Mom,” she says quietly.   
    
“Hmmm?”   
    
Leia’s cheeks burn with a blush and she can’t bring herself to look at her mother.  “Some people said some things last night at the party.”   
    
“What things?” Padmé asks, taking another sip of caf.   
    
Emboldened, Leia meets her mother’s gaze.  “Do you know Lord Vader?”   
    
Padmé goes very still.  She stares at her cup of caf with inordinate interest.  Slowly, she lifts it to her lips and takes another sip.  “Lord Vader,” she says smoothly.  ”I suppose I do know him.  He is a fixture at most official Imperial events."  She looks at her daughter carefully.  "What does this have to do with your party?"   
    
Leia nods again, inexplicably bothered by something in her mother’s reaction.  “Jori said a few things,” Leia says, fumbling for words.  “Inarra Deloaria was there –“   
    
Padmé groans, screwing her eyes shut wearily.  “Deloaria.  I should have known.”   
    
“Known what?”   
    
“There was an Imperial banquet several weeks ago,” Padmé explains.  “Your father and I attended.  Inarra’s father was drunk, belligerent.  He made unwanted advances toward me and at least a half-dozen other women in attendance.  He finally made the mistake of finding fault with Imperial policy very loudly at which point Lord Vader …  _intervened._ ”  She sighs heavily.  “I have no doubt that Kort Deloaria is trying to find any excuse, no matter how absurd, for the Imperial retribution that followed.  It is much easier to fabricate rumors than to hold one’s self accountable.”   
    
Leia wants to weep with relief.  Her mother’s explanation makes so much sense.  “I knew it couldn’t be true,” she says gratefully.  “I knew there was no way that you and Lord Vader –“  Leia shudders and falls silent.  She can’t even finish the sentence.  “He’s a monster.  I don’t even know if he’s human.”   
    
Padmé’s lips purse together tightly.  “Yes,” she says quietly.  “It would be quite absurd.”   
    
Oddly, Leia has the sensation she upset her mother.  Padmé smiles brightly, but somehow it doesn’t reach her eyes.   
    
“I should run,” Padmé says.  “I promised Sheltay I would meet her and the girls for breakfast.”   
    
Leia watches her mother leave the room and knows that something is very wrong.   
    
***   
    
The rest of the day passes as any other.  Leia can’t shake the feeling that her mother is off kilter, that something about their conversation upset her greatly. Padmé walks through the motions of everyday life, but somehow she seems muted.   
    
That evening, Leia watches the small gestures between her parents.  She notes how her mother puts her hand on her father’s arm as she reads his datapad over his shoulder after dinner.  She watches her father kiss her mother on the cheek before he shuts himself in his office to review official documents.   
    
Frowning, Leia heads to her twin's bedroom.  The door is slightly ajar and she finds Luke laying on his bed searching through a database of star fighters. Leaning against the doorjamb, Leia tries to ignore the deplorable state of her twin's room.  He is  _such_  a slob.  "Dad took Ru to see Senator Mott's new ship this morning.  You missed it."   
    
Luke looks up at her.  "I know," he says wistfully.  "It's a new SoroSuub Personal Luxury Yacht 3000.  I've been dying to get a look at one."   
    
Leia suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.  Luke is failing their Literature from the Mid Rim Civilizations class because he claims he finds it too hard to keep track of details.  Somehow she doubts his reasoning.   
    
Luke continues to study his datapad, but she knows his attention is fixated on her.  "What's up?" he asks casually.   
    
Carefully, Leia chooses her steps across Luke's room.  She has no desire to discover what lurks beneath the piles of clothing, books and machine parts that litter the floor.  Luke reprogrammed all the cleaning droids years ago to avoid his room – she often questions the wisdom of that action.   
    
Luke scoots over and she takes a seat on the bed next to him.  Neither of them speaks, but the silence is not uncomfortable.  None of Leia's friends understand the connection she shares with her brother.  She and Luke are so different in both appearance and demeanor that it's easy for some people to forget they're even related, much less twins.  Their interests are vastly divergent and they don’t hang out in the same social circles.  Yet, Leia counts Luke as her closest confidant and she knows he feels the same.    
    
"Do you think Mom and Dad are happy?" Leia asks.   
    
Luke switches off the datapad and rolls onto his side, looking at his sister.  He contemplates the question for a moment, closing his eyes like he's listening to music no one else can hear.  It used to unnerve Leia when he did things like that, but now she takes it in stride.  Luke has certain abilities she doesn't want to understand.   
    
He opens his eyes and looks at her calmly.  "They're content.  They love each other."   
    
Leia bites down on her lip considering his answer.    
    
"Why?" he asks.   
    
Leia shrugs.  "That party the other night.  Some people said things."   
    
With a grunt, Luke rolls over and picks up his discarded datapad.  "Your friends suck," he says seriously.   
    
"And your friends are all a bunch of gear heads," Leia counters.   
    
***   
    
Padmé steps out of the private fresher in her master suite the next afternoon and is startled to find Leia sitting at her vanity examining her jewelry.  "You know you need to ask permission if you want to borrow something," Padmé says pointedly.   
    
Leia nods.  Her already compact form is further folded up on the small vanity bench, knees pulled up to her chest.  In her hand is a glittering jeweled necklace. Leia glances over her shoulder at her mother.  "Where did you get this?"   
    
Padmé regards her daughter carefully.  Leia is quite adept at political maneuvering, however, Padmé has years of experience her daughter lacks.  It is quite clear to Padmé that Leia is still upset about the accusations concerning Vader.  Her daughter is fishing for evidence.   
    
“It was a gift from Dormé,” Padmé explains.  “As a thank you for introducing her to her exceptionally wealthy and attractive husband.”  She smiles wryly at her daughter.   
    
“Oh,” Leia says, resting her chin on top of her knees as she tosses the necklace carelessly on the vanity.   
    
Crossing the room to the vanity, Padmé carefully picks through her ornately carved jewelry box.  Respectfully, she removes a necklace of large silver squares. “This has been in the Organa family for generations,” she explains, handing the necklace to Leia.  “I’m sure your father would love to see you wear it.”   
    
Captivated by the necklace, Leia lowers her feet to the floor and straightens her spine.  Lifting her heavy chestnut braid, she allows Padmé to fasten the clasp around her neck.   
    
Padmé leans over, meeting her daughter’s gaze in the mirror.  “It looks beautiful on you.”  She presses a gentle kiss to the top of Leia’s head and then watches as Leia rises to her feet and leaves the room, all the while running her fingers over the necklace.   
    
Picking up the discarded necklace gifted to her by Dormé, Padmé returns it to its rightful place in the jewelry box.  Overcome by a moment of melancholy, Padmé opens the bottom drawer on the jewelry box and releases the secret compartment.  Reverently, she presses her fingertips to the carved Japor snippet on its weathered leather band.  She knows better than to remove it from its secret home with Leia hovering so close.   
    
With a sigh, she closes the compartment and shuts the drawer.   “I’m sure your father would love to see you wear it,” she whispers.   
   
***   
    
The next morning at breakfast, Leia watches as her father absently places his hand at the small of her mother’s back to gently urge her out of the way so he can grab a glass out of the cabinet.  It is yet another small intimacy that speak of affection, companionship and a close bond.   
    
Bail’s hand still rests in the small of Padmé’s back when he turns to face his daughter.  “Is there a problem, Leia?  You seem distracted.”   
    
She shakes her head and quickly turns away, concentrating on the mathematics homework she neglected the previous evening.  “Big test,” she mumbles.   
    
Leia doesn’t see the searching look Bail gives his wife.    
    
Padmé shrugs, turning away.   
    
***   
    
It’s been nearly a week since the party, and despite Leia’s watchful eye, she’s found nothing to make her believe her family is anything other than happy and whole.  And still… she remains unsettled.    
    
Evening fades into night and the Organa family retires to bed.  Yet, the restlessness that has plagued Leia all week makes it particularly hard for her to sleep. The snores coming from Annaé’s side of the room do not help matters.  Frustrated, Leia makes her way to the living room and curls up on the couch staring blindly out the window.    
    
She sits there for an hour, maybe more.  She snaps to attention as the door to her parents’ bedroom hisses open.  She watches as her mother glances around the living room.  Mostly obscured by a blanket and pillows, Leia escapes her mother’s notice.  She watches as Padmé crosses the room, grabbing her cloak and heading for the door.   
    
Burning with curiosity, Leia grabs her own cloak and follows.  Padmé makes her way to the pedestrian walkway outside their apartment building and hails an air taxi.  Several times, Padmé glances over her shoulder and Leia is forced to hide.  Leia waits until her mother’s taxi is almost out of sight and then hails her own taxi and tells the driver to follow.  They leave the Ambassadorial Sector and make their way toward the exclusive Orowood District.  With each passing moment, the dread in Leia’s heart grows.   
    
Leia instructs her driver to slow without letting Padmé’s air taxi out of sight.  Padmé’s transport approaches the elite Vivendi Towers and ascends to the uppermost penthouse.  Leia can see the penthouse has an expansive veranda and landing platform.    
    
As her own taxi approaches the Towers, Leia can see the lone figure waiting on the penthouse’s landing platform.  She knows without a doubt it is Lord Vader. Leia watches as her mother exits the air taxi.  There is no embrace, no physical intimacy that would suggest an affair.  Yet her mother is visiting Lord Vader in the middle of the night at a private penthouse in the poshest private residence on the planet aside from the Imperial Palace.   
    
***   
   
  
He does not offer his hand and she does not ask.  Wordlessly, he turns toward the penthouse's entrance.  She follows.   
    
“Your summons was unexpected,” he says.  "Apologies for the delay.  I have been away on Imperial business."   
    
"It's just as well.  Leia should consider a career in surveillance.  I haven't been able to take a step without her watching."   
    
He waits until they are inside to speak again.  Pulling back his hood, he looks at her and cannot help but smile.  As much as he hungered for the young woman she used to be, he has no trouble admitting to himself that he finds the woman she is now infinitely more beguiling and engaging.  Time has been generous to her, imbuing her with wisdom rather than wrinkles.  She is still stunningly beautiful and his body still aches for her after all this time.   
    
She gives him a sharp look.  “You never should have attacked that idiot Deloaria.”   
    
Her topic of conversation is a more potent mood killer than a cold shower.  Obviously, she did not contact him for any reason they might find mutually enjoyable. He sighs, reining in his desire for her.   “Why not?”   
    
Padmé is clearly agitated, pacing back and forth in front of him.  “Leia went to a party last week where Deloaria’s daughter and Leia’s boyfriend both alluded to our affair.”   
    
He startles.  “Leia has a boyfriend?  How old is she?  She’s not old enough to have a boyfriend.”   
    
Padmé ignores his comments on Leia’s love life.  “If teenagers are discussing us at parties, it’s a safe bet the Emperor knows as well.”   
    
“What’s his name?” he presses.   
    
“ _Would you please focus_!” Padmé yells.  “The Emperor, Anakin, dammit!”   
    
He frowns.  Padmé is right.  Palpatine is a much bigger threat than Leia’s boyfriend.  Though he files that tidbit of information away for later.  He will get to the bottom of it.   
    
“There have been rumors for years.  That’s what happens,” he says smugly, “when none of your children look like your husband.  Why should Deloaria’s comments make any difference now?”   
    
“Oh, I don’t know,” she counters waspishly.  “Maybe because they’re  _true._ ”   
    
“It’s been true for nearly twenty years,” he says, unconcerned.  “And while people may correctly assume that you regularly cuckold the Viceroy, they have little reason to assume I’m involved.  As much as it wounds my pride, I suspect few truly believe I’m up to the task.”   
    
Padmé snorts at the irony.  Anakin is most certainly up to the task.  He's worse now than when he was a teenager.  But he’s right.  It serves the Emperor’s purposes quite well to have people view Vader as an inhuman monster.   
    
He crosses the small space that separates them and forces her to stop pacing.  Gently grasping her chin, he tilts her head toward him.  “You’re not here because you’re worried about Palpatine,” he says quietly.   
    
She sighs, her shoulders slumping.  She shakes her head.  “No.”   
    
“You’re upset.”   
    
Nodding, Padmé pulls away and walks to the couch, falling into it heavily.  “It’s Leia.  Or rather, all of the children.”   
    
He follows her, taking a seat at her side.  “What about them?”   
    
She laughs mirthlessly.  “I thought I could do this,” she says.  “Can you appreciate the hubris?  I thought I could lie to my husband and my children and the galaxy and no one would ever know.”   
    
“It has to be this way,” he says seriously.  “You know that.  Palpatine is a danger to my children.  It cannot be public knowledge they’re mine.”   
    
“I’m not talking about the public, Anakin.  I’m talking about Luke and Leia and Annaé and Ruwee having the right to know their true heritage.”  She looks at him, her expression softening.  “They deserve to know you.”   
    
He can’t meet her gaze.  He pushes himself off the couch and walks to the window.  “They can’t.  You’ve always known that.”   
    
“I know,” she says wearily.  “I’m just not sure I’m stupid enough to believe it anymore.”   
    
He turns and looks at her.   
    
“You should have seen Leia,” Padmé says softly.  “She was so repulsed by the very idea of you and me together – “  She stops, searching for words.  “I don’t expect her to like the idea.  Of course the children adore Bail, of course they’re loyal to him.  He’s the only father they’ve ever known and he has been so good to them, loved them so much.  But the fact that Leia doesn’t even know if you’re human, that she can’t even wrap her mind around the concept of you as a man with feelings … Anakin, that’s not right.”   
    
He turns away again.  The knowledge burns.  His children mean more to him than anything in the galaxy and it has taken years for him to accept that the status quo must be maintained.  He would love nothing more than to openly acknowledge them, but he knows that is not a possibility as long as Palpatine lives.   
    
“They deserve to know you, Anakin,” Padmé continues.  “They deserve to know how much you love them, how much you’ve sacrificed to keep them safe.”   
    
“You’re being naïve,” he says bitterly.  “They won’t see it that way.  If you step back for a moment and think about it, you’ll see I’m right.  All they will see is your betrayal of their father, your lies and my monstrosity.”  He sighs sadly.  “They will not be happy to claim me.  Don’t do that to them.”   
    
She is silent for a long time and Anakin knows she is weeping.  “I love you,” she whispers at last.  “I want them to be able to love you too.”   
    
“That would mean everything to me,” he says honestly.  “But it is not possible.”   
    
Angrily, she wipes away her tears and springs from the couch.  "Something has to be done about Palpatine.  We find excuse after excuse to maintain this course."   
    
He rounds on her, equally angry.  "You've seen what he's done to me.  Would you have him do that to our children too?"   
    
She stops, watching him closely.  She isn’t certain exactly what he means.  She doesn’t know if he refers to his physical injuries and the inadequate care he receives from Palpatine's physicians.  Or perhaps he means the myriad mental and emotional tortures his Master employs to keep him in line.  For years, she has watched the way Palpatine breaks him down a piece at a time in an attempt to keep Vader firmly under his thumb.  It wounds her to watch the vicious game they play, but she feels helpless to intervene.   
    
Regardless of his meaning, none of the options are something Padmé would wish for any of her children.  "Of course not," she says.  "But what if he already knows?  What if he counts on our fear for the children to keep us all in line?  What if he plans to tell them himself so he can use their anger to his own ends?  You know how devious he is.  You know how adeptly he twists the truth."   
    
He doesn't reply because he doesn't have an answer.  It's entirely possible she's right.  It's entirely possible that Palpatine does know about the children and they somehow figure into his plans.    
    
She crosses the room to him, gently placing her hand on his arm.  "You're close to him," she says.  "You're the one person in the galaxy who is in a position to  - "   
    
"Kill him?" he asks when she fails to finish the sentence.   
    
"Yes," she says boldly, sticking her chin out defiantly.   
    
He looks away with an expression close to shame.  "If it were that simple, I would have done it years ago."   
    
"You don't have to do it alone," she says, pleading.  "There are people,  _powerful_  people who wish to see Palpatine fall.  The Alliance – "   
    
"Padmé -"   
    
"The Alliance has resources and dedicated – "   
    
"Padmé!" he yells, finally succeeding in silencing her.  He looks down at her, his jaw clenched tightly.  "Stay away from the Alliance," he says darkly.  "You and the Viceroy too."   
    
"We have to do something," she counters.  "At least the Alliance is trying to make a difference."   
    
"And how does this end?" he demands, leaning down, his face inches from hers.  "What happens when I'm forced to arrest you or the Viceroy for treason?  Have you considered how that will affect the children?"   
    
She stares up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.  "I don't know," she admits.   
    
His anger fades and he pulls her close, resting his chin on the top of her head.  "I'll find a way, something, I don't know.  Just don't do anything stupid."   
    
***   
    
Leia crouches on the landing platform outside the penthouse, her nose pressed against the thick transparisteel widows.  There isn't much illumination.  She can see two forms, but it is difficult to discern actions.  The only time she can see anything clearly is when one of them paces in front of the large windows on the other side of the penthouse and is silhouetted against the skyline.  As far as she can tell, they don't seem to be doing much aside from pacing around the lavish living room.   
    
Nearly an hour later, she sees them approaching the landing platform.  Reflexively, she dives behind a large crate.  Peeking out, she watches the pair carefully.  Vader - there's no doubt in Leia's mind as to his identity - doesn't wear his hood.  Leia is shocked to find he is definitely human.  Even more astonishing, he is quite handsome – and young.  She has no idea what she expected Vader to look like, but it certainly isn't the tall, graceful man standing next to her mother.  He turns and the light catches him just right.  His hair is slightly longer than is fashionable, curling around his ears and the nape of his neck, the same honeyed color as Annaé's hair.  His eyes are a bright, piercing blue.  He is much younger than she expected, at least twenty, maybe thirty years younger than her father.   
    
She watches Vader with her mother and is shocked to realize they must be close to the same age.  She is struck by the realization of how much older her father is than her mother.  Somehow, it never seemed odd before this moment.   
    
They are speaking too softly for Leia to hear, but Vader says something and her mother turns to look at him.  The expression on her face isn't one Leia has ever seen before.  She looks …  _young._   She laughs at him and gives him a bittersweet grin.   
    
"Be careful, Ani," she hears her mother say softly.   
    
He nods in response, but doesn't speak.  The two stand on the landing platform, watching as the air taxi approaches.  He helps her mother into the taxi.  There is no embrace, yet the moment is so undeniably intimate Leia knows the rumors are true.   
    
The taxi departs and Leia turns to watch Vader disappear into the penthouse.  There is no ship docked on the landing platform so he must intend to take the turbolift to the building's lower levels and acquire transport from there.   
    
Now, Leia has to figure out how she's getting home.  She leans forward, resting her forehead against the crate.  She's stranded on the landing platform with no way home.  Short of a miracle, she won't reach home before her mother.  She doesn't want to call Luke for help.  Or Jori.  Or Typho or anyone else she would normally call.   
    
Grinding her teeth in irritation she rises to her feet…   
    
… and comes face to face with Darth Vader.   
    
Leia yelps in shock and stumbles backward.  Vader reaches out, grabbing her forearm and steadying her before she lands on her backside.  When she has her footing, he releases her and steps back, watching her warily.   
    
"Princess," he says quietly.  His voice is damaged and gravelly, but it's gentler than she was expecting, warmer.   
    
He sweeps his arm to the side, motioning for her to enter the penthouse.  "Allow me to escort you home."   
    
She shakes her head.  "Uh, I'm fine," she says lamely.  She would cannot imagine a worse fate than being escorted anywhere by Darth Vader.   
    
"It wasn't a request," he says firmly and Leia knows she has no choice.   
    
***   
    
The door to the apartment hisses open and Padmé's eyes go wide, accusing.  She glares at Anakin unable to believe he has the audacity to knock on her door in the middle of the night.  He has always been bold, but this is approaching insanity.   
    
"You lost something," he says tightly, nudging Leia forward.   
    
Padmé's gaze drops to her daughter and a surfeit of emotions grip her; anger, fear, embarrassment, relief.  "Leia, what are you doing?" she demands, grabbing her daughter's arm and pulling her inside the apartment.   
    
His vision fixates on Padmé, then Leia, then back to Padmé.  He says nothing.   
    
"Thank you, my lord," Padmé says formally.   
    
With a bow, he turns and leaves.  Padmé shuts the door.   
    
"Leia," she groans wearily.   
    
Leia turns on her mother, glaring.  "Is he my father?" she demands in a whisper.  The rest of the house is still asleep.   
    
Padmé looks at her daughter and is uncharacteristically at a complete loss for words.  Despite fifteen years of knowing this confrontation was not only possible, but probable, she finds herself woefully unprepared.  In spite of Anakin's warnings, she somehow didn't believe that Leia would react with such anger, such betrayal.  She sighs.  "Bail Organa is your father," Padmé says lamely, falling back on a lifetime of excuses.  "He signed your permission slip for the field trip next week.  It's sitting on the counter."   
    
"That's not what I – " Leia starts.   
    
"I know what you mean," Padmé says, cutting across her.  She cannot do this right now.  "Go to bed."   
    
"I have a right – "   
    
"Go.  To.  Bed."  Without watching to see if Leia heeds her orders, Padmé turns and heads for her own bedroom.   
    
***   
    
The door to the bedroom hisses shut and Bail pretends to be asleep.  He glances at the bedside chrono, confirming it is indeed the middle of the night.  In the dark, his lips pull into a tight frown.  It has been a long time since Padmé disappeared in the dead of night.  Once the children reached school age, he thinks she found it easier to sneak away during the day.   
    
"I know you're awake," Padmé says quietly.   
    
He rolls over and looks at her in the dim light filtering through the window.    
    
"Leia heard rumors," she says.  "At that party Jori took her to last week.  Some stupid scared girl threw around some accusations she shouldn't have."   
    
"Can I assume this is about you?" he asks, unable to completely quash the bitterness in his tone.   
    
"And Vader," she confirms quietly.   
    
Bail's eyebrow arches in surprise.  Though he has always known, he did not realize anyone else suspects his wife's involvement with Vader.  "You went to him tonight," he says.  It is not a question.   
    
"I needed to talk to him," she answers lamely.  "It was stupid.  Leia followed me."   
    
Bail sits up in bed.   
    
"It wasn't – " Padmé starts.  "He and I … we just talked.  He found Leia snooping around after I left.  He brought her home."   
    
Bail often tries to pity the man who used to be Anakin Skywalker.  It is easier accomplished when his wife isn't standing in their bedroom in the middle of the night admitting she just saw Vader.  Leaning over, Bail turns on the bedside lamp.  He wearily rubs his eyes.  "We knew this would happen eventually," he says.    
    
She sits down at the foot of the bed facing the wall.  "I've made such a mess of all our lives," she says quietly.   
    
"Children are resilient," Bails replies, putting years of political knowledge into his words.  He knows Padmé wants him to absolve her of her sins.  The truth is he loves and accepts her, shortcomings and all.  He accepts his own blame in this situation.  He knew she was in love with Anakin Skywalker before he proposed.  He foolishly allowed himself to believe she could love him enough to forget Skywalker.  Even now, in his more self-deprecating moments, he acknowledges his wife's affair might not be such a bad thing on a galactic scope.  Vader loves her, that much is evident.  Vader's attachment to Padmé, to the children he fathered with her humanize him in a way nothing else could.  It gives Bail hope that one day perhaps the Emperor's apprentice might overthrow his Master.     
    
However, at the end of the day, Padmé is still  _his_  wife.  Despite its potential to benefit the Alliance, he will not condone her infidelity.  He may be an old man, but he isn't dead yet.    
    
But he also knows there is no benefit to anyone in her torturing herself for events she cannot change.  Vader is the children's biological father.  And even armed with that knowledge, Bail still loves his wife deeply.  He knows she loves him in return.   
    
"Come to bed," he says, pulling back the covers on her side.  "It will wait until morning."   
    
***   
    
Leia tosses and turns for hours, unable to sleep with all the chaos in her heart and mind.  She watches the sunrise and finally falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
    
When she wakes, it is late afternoon and she is intensely grateful there is no school today.  The penthouse is deserted save her father who sits in his office reviewing a trade agreement.  Leia leans against the doorjamb, watching him.   
    
"What's troubling you?" he asks without raising his head.   
    
Leia smiles sadly.  Her father always reads her easily.  Walking into his office, she perches on the corner of his desk.  "I need to talk to you."   
    
Bail switches off the datapad and leans back in his chair, regarding his daughter carefully.  "About what?"  Though he adores all of his children, he and Leia have always shared a particularly close bond.   
    
Sitting there, she searches for the words.  She looks up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears as her chin quivers.    
    
"Is this about the rumors you heard?" he asks, worried.   
    
She nods quickly.  Sighing loudly, she takes a deep breath, fighting to get her emotions under control.  "Are you and mom happy?"   
    
"I love your mother very much," he says softly.  "And she loves me.  We both love you."  He takes a deep breath, regarding his daughter carefully.  "Your mother told me you followed her last night."   
    
Leia frowns and looks away.  Turning back to meet her father's gaze, she asks, "You know about last night?  You know about mom and … _him?_ ”   
    
Bail considers his reply carefully.  Leia is young and she is his child, so the urge to protect her – even from the truth – is nearly overwhelming.  But such a move could be very dangerous.  Leia needs to know the truth.  "Yes," he says quietly.   
    
Leia looks at him aghast.  "You know?" she demands.  "You know that mom is cheating on you?  That she and Vader are … are – " She can't bring herself to say the words.  "You know she's a whore?"   
    
"Enough!"  Bail rises to his feet.  "I understand that you are upset, but you will not speak of your mother in such a manner."   
    
"It's the truth," Leia says insolently, but the words are half mumbled, like she can't fully commit to the deed.   
    
"There are many truths," Bail says firmly.  "The most important truth is that you and your sister and brothers are the most important things in my life and your mother's life."   
    
Leia gapes at her father.  "How can you say that?  How can you say she cares about us when she can do something like this to our family?"   
    
Bail looks at his daughter.  "I do not approve of everything your mother does," he says truthfully.  "But Vader cares for her, deeply.  I shudder at the thought of what he would be like without that human connection."   
    
"He's a monster," Leia says quietly, staring at the floor.   
    
"Some think so, yes."   
    
Leia looks up at him.  "Do you?"   
    
Bail looks at his daughter – at Vader's daughter - and forces himself to temper his words for her sake.  There is no love lost between him and Vader.  There have been many days – and nights – when he would have had no greater satisfaction than putting a blaster bolt in the bastard's back.  But that information will not help Leia and she is Bail's priority.  "Mostly I see an incredibly misguided and manipulated young man who made some tragically bad decisions."   
    
"You knew him before he was Vader?"   
    
Bail nods.  "I did.  His name was Anakin Skywalker.  He was a Jedi Knight."   
    
***   
    
“Did you murder younglings?”   
    
Vader swivels around and finds Leia standing near the shuttle’s gangplank watching him.   
    
An Imperial trooper grabs her roughly.  “My lord, I don’t know how she got past security.”   
    
“Release her,” Vader commands.  His voice is rough, harsh, nothing like it was last night when he spoke to her.   
    
The trooper immediately releases Leia and she straightens her jacket, glaring at the man.    
    
“Leave, soldier,” Vader orders.   
    
The busy landing platform is bustling with activity.  Vader closes a good deal of the distance between himself and Leia, stopping only a few feet from her.  “Do your parents know you’re here?”   
    
“No, I didn’t tell  _my father_  where I was going.”  She peers into the shadows beneath his hood looking for some reaction to her words.   
    
He chuckles softly.  “I deal with Palpatine on a daily basis, child.  Your inelegant banter will do me no damage.”  Despite his words, the icy cold in his heart tells a different tale.  “Walk with me.”  He turns, striding toward the Senate building.   
    
Hands clasped behind his back, he measures his gait to accommodate Leia’s much shorter stride.  “How did you find me?” He shouldn’t allow this contact.  He knows that.  But since his conversation with Padmé last night, he is acutely aware of his distance from his children.  Greedily, he wants to talk to his elder daughter.   
    
“You always attend the opening session,” she replies.  “Everyone knows that.”   
    
“And you came here to interrogate me about my past?”   
    
“Yes,” she answers boldly.   
    
He glances over at her and his lips curl into a grudging smile.  She’s a fiery little pest.  He is accustomed to seasoned generals cowering in his presence, yet this little girl feels it is well within her rights to make demands of him.  “You want to know if I killed younglings,” he says, rather than asks.  “Yes, I did.  And Padawans and Jedi Knights and many Jedi Masters.”   
    
She glowers at him and a sensation suspiciously like shame creeps into his heart.    
    
“Why did you want to know?” he demands.   
    
She refuses to answer his question, instead asking another.  “Were you a Jedi?”   
    
He stops walking and looks down at her.  She stares back up at him undaunted.  “In another lifetime,” he admits.   
    
“Anakin Skywalker?”   
    
“That name means nothing to me,” he replies coldly, turning and continuing on his way.   
    
Leia jogs after him.  “I don’t like you,” she snaps.   
    
He slows his stride, allowing her to catch up.  “Pity,” he says.  “I find myself oddly fond of you.  I’ve murdered leaders of entire civilizations for daring to show me the slightest hint of insolence yet you seem to think you can order me around.  It is quite novel.”   
    
“You’re a … _jerk_ ,” she counters rather lamely.   
    
He laughs in genuine amusement.  “You’re hardly the first to voice that sentiment."  He looks over at her.  “Tell me about Jori Semme.”   
    
Leia scowls.  “He’s my boyfriend.”   
    
“No he’s not.  You’re too young to have a boyfriend.”   
    
“I am not,” she counters testily.  “I’m fifteen.  My mom was younger than me when she had her first boyfriend.”   
    
“No she wasn’t.”   
    
“Yes she was.”   
    
“No she wasn’t.”   
    
“Yes she was,” Leia says, stopping long enough to stomp her foot.    
    
Vader turns and looks at her, unable to hide his amusement.    
    
“She was thirteen,” Leia says, crossing her arms over her chest and popping out one hip.  “His name was Palo.  He was an  _artist_.”   
    
Vader leans in close enough that Leia can clearly see his features beneath the hood.  “Your mother’s first boyfriend was named Anakin Skywalker,” he says firmly.  Then he turns and continues walking.   
    
Leia hurries after him, unsure of why she wants to continue the conversation.  She loathes Vader.  At least she thinks she does.  He fully admits to being a deplorable human being.  Yet, she feels compelled, driven to continue speaking with him.   
    
“Have you considered a monastic vocation?" he asks conversationally.  "There are some truly awe inspiring convents in the Mid Rim worlds.”   
    
Leia sputters in horror at the very idea.  “I’m not going to be a nun,” she informs him curtly.  “I’m going to be a Senator.  I’m going to work with the Alliance – “   
    
She doesn’t finish the sentence.  Vader turns on her so quickly she doesn’t even see him move.  He has the front of her jacket clasped in his fist and he holds her so her toes can’t touch the ground.  “The words you speak are treason,” he says in a biting whisper, shaking her hard for emphasis.  “You could be executed simply for uttering them.”   
    
She stares up at him, willing herself not to cry.  She looks into the perfect blue of his eyes.  “Are you the Emperor’s executioner?  Will you kill me?”   
    
Looking pained, Vader sets her gently on her feet and turns, continuing on his path inside the Senate building.    
    
She watches as he rounds one of the giant columns and turns up a hallway before she runs after him.  “You didn’t answer m-“   
    
Leia doesn’t finish the thought.  She is crushed against a hard chest and a cold metal blaster barrel bites into the tender flesh under her chin.  Panic floods her senses and her eyes go wide.  Instinctively, she claws at the hand holding her.   
    
Several paces up the hallway, Vader spins around.   
    
“Don’t even think of going for the lightsaber,” a male voice slurs.    
    
Leia is nauseated by the stench of booze wafting from the man.  He holds her so tight and so close she can barely breathe.   
    
“Release her,  _now_.”   
    
“No,” the man counters, shoving the blaster barrel even harder under Leia’s chin.  She whimpers uncontrollably and her eyes burn with tears.  The man pulls her even closer, running his stubble-roughened cheek along hers in a mockery of affection.  “Heh,” he laughs.  “Guess I shouldn’t be shocked you like ‘em young.  Always took you for a sick fuck.  If you’re already nailin’ the mother, why not nail the daughter too.”   
    
Leia is released so abruptly she stumbles forward, crashing to her hands and knees.  She immediately scrambles out of the way, backing herself against the wall, staring back at her attacker.   
    
The man collapses to his knees.  Forgotten, the blaster clatters loudly to the floor as he scratches his neck bloody.  He makes a horrible choking noise, his eyes bulging.   Time seems suspended.  Leia watches him gasp futilely for air, fighting for breath he will not find.  There is one final crunching noise and he crumples heavily to the ground, tongue lolling between his purple lips.   
    
Leia’s gaze snaps to Vader, watching as he slowly lowers his outstretched hand.  Leia’s vision immediately returns to her attacker.  She’s never seen anyone die, never seen a dead body.  She stares at his sightless eyes, the spittle trickling out of his gaping mouth.  Unable to prevent it, she heaves, vomiting on the floor.   
    
She retches and retches until there is nothing left in her stomach.  Sobbing uncontrollably, she leans against the wall for support.  Vader is there, his hand on her shoulder.  “Leia?”   
    
Blindly, she turns into him, burying her face in the coarse material of his cloak.  She can’t seem to stop crying.  She doesn’t want to let go of him.  Letting go of him means having to look at the man’s dead body again and she doesn’t think she can do that.   
    
Vader pulls her close, holding her for several moments before he forces her to take a step back and meet his gaze beneath the hood.  He looks her over and seems satisfied she wasn’t physically harmed.  Without a word, he tucks her against his side and ushers her down the hall.   
    
As they turn the corner, Leia can't stop herself from looking over her shoulder one last time.  The body lays exactly where it fell.  As Leia watches, a group of young Senators turn the corner and gasp in horror.  One of them looks up and locks eyes with Leia across the distance.  It is Pooja  Naberrie, the Senator from the Chommell sector.  Leia's cousin.   
    
Vader leads her around a corner into a labyrinthine series of passages.   
    
***   
    
Leia doesn't know where they are, some office within the Senate complex.  Imperial guards are stationed outside the door.  She sits on a nondescript chair, her mind spinning.  In her hand is an untouched glass of water procured by some Imperial lackey.  Across the room, Vader stares out the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back.  He hasn't moved a muscle in at least half an hour.   
    
"Thank you," she says, her voice scratchy from the retching and crying.   
    
He turns, watching her.  His dark hood is pulled back far enough that she can clearly see his face.  His jaw is firmly set and there is some emotion in his eyes she cannot read.   
    
"I would do far worse than rid the galaxy of that traitorous piece of filth to protect you, Princess," he says quietly.   
    
His words are dark, the intention behind them even darker.  Yet Leia finds them perversely comforting.  She looks down at her hand, at the glass of water.  "Are you – " she starts to ask and then falls silent.  She glances at him.   
    
He looks at her, his expression gentle.  But then his vision searches the room in a gesture she takes to mean they may not be as alone as it appears.    
    
 _Yes._    
   
His lips don't move.  He didn't speak the words aloud.  But she hears his voice clearly in her mind.  She supposes the fact that she can hear his answer is confirmation enough of its veracity.   
    
She gives him a watery smile, shocked to realize she is not shocked.  She has known this truth for some time.   
    
"My Lord," the Imperial trooper positioned outside the door announces, "Viceroy Organa has arrived."   
    
Vader gives her one last look before pulling down his hood to obscure his features.  "Send him in."   
    
The door hisses open and Leia looks up at her father.  He immediately crosses the room and kneels in front of her, taking her hands in his own.  He turns, regarding Vader.   
    
"Deloaria," Vader says, answering the unspoken question.  "He attacked Leia."   
    
Her father opens his mouth to say something and Vader cuts him off.  "He's dead.  It is regrettable that the Princess had to witness it."   
    
Without a word, her father urges Leia to her feet.  She immediately complies.  As they leave, she glances over her shoulder at Lord Vader and finds him watching her.   
  


End file.
